


A Good Life We Lead

by byronicmusings



Series: The Sum of Our Memories [4]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood, Bittersweet, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ezio has a let it go moment, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Introspection, Repressed Emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:07:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22769041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byronicmusings/pseuds/byronicmusings
Summary: "It is a good life we lead, brother."“The best. May it never change.""And may it never change us."Ezio visits his father and brothers.
Series: The Sum of Our Memories [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1407148
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	A Good Life We Lead

**Author's Note:**

> this was sitting in my drafts for the longest time. i couldn't figure out how to end it until insomniac-running-on-3-hours-of-sleep-with-a-pounding-headache-me came up with this after trying to nap and failing so yeah enjoy!!!

His footsteps are light, almost silent, save for the soft clacking of roof tiles. There is little moonlight today - the sky a dark canvas of black - but he has travelled this path enough that his feet know the way. He leaps gracefully over the last of the buildings and descends gingerly, his boots landing on the hard ground with a muted thud. 

There is no one around, as it has been for the many times he has visited. Ezio lifts the bouquet of flowers, clenched tight in a white knuckled grip, and checks to see if they are still intact. His hands are clammy and he starts to sweat, despite the gentle caress of the cool night breeze. 

_Get yourself together,_ he chides, as he takes a deep breath, as he tries to force his heart to stop beating so wildly. 

He’s done this so many times, but it never seems to get easier. He wonders if it ever will. 

He finds them under the shade of a tree, three blocks of stone erected in the ground, deathly still amongst the gentle swaying of trees and branches. It is quiet, the only sounds the low rustling of leaves and the faint chirping of crickets, but in the distance Ezio hears the snap of floorboards, the creaking of the wooden beam, and the straining of ropes. 

He catches himself before his thoughts can go further, before he feels the familiar surge of guilt and anger and pain welling up inside him. _What is done is done,_ he tells himself. _You could not have changed it._

Here Ezio sighs, pushing away his thoughts. He kneels down on the slightly damp earth and gently places the flowers on each of their tombs, Petruccio's decorated with colourful feathers. He sweeps dead leaves off, arranges the flowers with care. He stares at the names engraved in stone. 

He doesn’t know what to say, he never does, and so settles for reporting assassin matters to his father, like a novice would to a mentor. He talks about the state of the brotherhood, about Rodrigo’s plans with the apple, about his visit to the precursor temples. The story spills from his lips in a smooth stream of words until he’s back at Monteriggioni, where Uncle Mario is on his knees, and it is too late and he is too far to do anything but watch helplessly as another piece of him is torn apart by a single gunshot and Cesare Borgia’s cruel, taunting smile. 

The memory awakes a fresh wave of grief and guilt in him - his voice cracks and stutters. _I should have been there,_ he thinks, _should have run faster, should have fought harder, should have known._ Another Auditore dead - are his mother and sister next? 

A dread of panic rises in him, and he tries to take a moment to compose himself, a moment to gather the broken pieces and piece them back together again. _I must be strong,_ Ezio thinks, but it is hard and he is so tired of bottling everything inside, of trying to drown out the pain and anguish in a storm of hidden blades and snarls. He feels like a spring wound tight for far too long, like a dam on the verge of overflowing. 

He draws in a shaky breath and pauses, and in a split moment decides to just throw all caution to the wind and _let it go._

And so for the first time in years, Ezio finally stops trying, finally embraces the sorrow and grief that has been accompanying him for as long as he’d known. He lets out an involuntary sob as his throat starts to burn and his vision starts to blur, and soon enough he finds himself pouring his whole soul out in a heart-wrenching flow of tears, in an irregular beat of hiccups and gasps. He lets it all out, a decade’s worth of emotion, and he stays in that state for quite a while - a lone figure on his knees, hunched over and crying his heart out. 

He has not cried in a while, did not even cry when his father and brothers were hanged right before his eyes, and somewhere in the midst of his breakdown a spark in him feels liberated at being finally able to let go. 

It takes a while for him to compose himself, for him to wipe away the tears with his sleeves and slow the pounding of his heart. There is a lump in his throat and his legs are stiff from staying in that position for too long but - he feels better, and that is what matters. 

A gentle wind stirs then, cool on his tear-streaked face. The earthy scent of trees wafts along and Ezio takes a deep breath, lifting his head to the starry sky, to the wisps of cloud drifting weightlessly across. He watches the stars as a crescent of moon emerges, its faint light casting an ethereal glow on the clouds, and somewhere in the distance a lone bird calls out. 

He feels calmer now, feels a veil of quiet placidity settle around him like a cloak. He looks at his surroundings with a renewed sense of vigor - the hushed whisper of leaves, the soothing lull of the aqueducts, the sense of peacefulness and tranquility only found in the dead of the night with no one else in sight. His heart feels lighter, and for once he does not feel the burden of their deaths hanging over him. 

Ezio stretches out and lies down with a grunt, hands supporting the back of his head. He doesn’t think - refuses to think - and instead just stares at the dark sky above him, at the tiny stars twinkling in irregular beats. 

_Oh Federico,_ he says, his voice a soft whisper amongst the gentle noises of nature. _So much has changed._

There he remains, a lone sentinel standing vigil in the darkness of the night, until the stars fade and the sky lightens up with the golden light of dawn. He remains until his eyes blink in weariness, until his limbs get numb with the cold, until his head pounds from the long night. He remains until the birds start chirping and the sun is well up in the sky, before, finally, getting up slowly with a huge sigh, he takes one last look at the stones in front of him before walking away.

_It was a good life we lead, brother. That will never change._


End file.
